


Lessons in Obedience

by TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone



Series: Shards of Porcelain [2]
Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Brahms just needs some obedience lessons, Chastity Device, F/M, Femdom, Greta takes no shit, tantrums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 22:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15129410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone/pseuds/TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone
Summary: Brahms doesn't like Greta's plan and tries to get his way, Greta does not approve.





	Lessons in Obedience

**Author's Note:**

> Since so many people liked On The Mend, I decided to try at a sequel.

Brahms woke up much later than he would have liked, it took him a few moments of intense panic to realize that he was in Greta's bed but then new anxiety settled in when he noted the other side of the bed was empty. Brahms got up as quickly as his wounded stomach would allow and looked about, listening keenly for any activity in the bathroom or the rest of the floor.

He couldn't hear anything so he ducked into his secret ways and hurried down to the ground floor, pushing out near the kitchen and almost scaring Greta into dropping the frying pan she was holding,

“Brahms! Don't _do_ that!” She snapped, setting the pan down and fixing him with a disapproving glare.

Brahms blinked then fidgeted, “I'm sorry . . . I didn't know where you went, Greta.”

Greta huffed, shaking her head fondly, “It's alright, at least use the stairs, next ti- oh my god, your feet!”

Brahms looked at his feet then shuffled, they were filthy from how dusty it was behind the walls, “Oh . . . “

“Alright, new rule, no more going behind the walls, use the stairs and for the love of God, shoes, Brahms!”

Brahms nodded quickly then Greta pointed to the table where a stack of pancakes was waiting for him, his eyes widened and he hurried to sit down and began dousing them in syrup and butter then stuffing them whole into his mouth. Greta blinked as Brahms grabbed a handful of bacon and proceeded to shove that into his mouth too,

“Brahms, at least _chew_ your food before you choke!”

He blinked with his cheeks full then looked sheepishly down at his plate, “mmfrry.”

“Chew, swallow, then talk to me, alright?” Greta walked around him to her side, running her hand gently across his shoulders before sitting down then she started spreading peanut butter on a pancake, she smiled and shook her head.

They ate in relative silence while Brahms worked on finishing his several mouthfuls of sticky cake and bacon then Brahms swallowed and looked at her,

“Greta?”

“Yup?”

“What are we going to do now?” He asked softly, leaning back in his chair a bit to stare down the hall.

“Well . . . No sense staying here, I guess, Malcolm will probably tell the police everything and I don't want to risk how much they'll believe, so . . . “ Greta shrugged.

Brahms shifted nervously, “Why can't we stay here?”

“It's not safe, Brahmsy.” Greta explained gently, putting a hand on his arm.

“But I don't want to go . . . “ Brahms whined, gripping the edge of the table.

“That isn't going to matter soon,” Greta stood up and took their plates to the sink, “We either stay here and wait for them to come get you and put you away for good or we take what we can and leave.”

“I don't _want_ to go, Greta.” Brahms said more firmly, maybe she just didn't understand?

Greta crossed her arms, turning to regard Brahms and it reminded him of how Mummy used to look at him when he did something particularly naughty or rude,

“Brahms, we're leaving. I'm not going to argue this with you.” Greta's voice was even but also sounded brittle like she was only a breath away from yelling.

Brahms shook his head, he knew how to get his way, throw a big enough tantrum and Greta would do what he wanted, “No!”

Greta narrowed her eyes, “I'll be heading to the bank to withdraw all I can from your parents account, you had better be dressed and ready to be agreeable by the time I get back.”

Brahms watched her turn and head to the door, he got up and followed her to the foyer where she was putting her shoes on already,

“I'm not going!”

She ignored him and that only made Brahms angry so he grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the door,

“I said, I'm not going!” He shouted in her face.

Greta flinched and her eyes widened then narrowed and she wrenched her arm back, “Brahms, do you want to be punished? You'll do as I say!”

Brahms stamped his foot in frustration, breathing heavily then he growled and turned toward the panel in the hall. But Greta's voice stopped him,

“I said use the stairs!”

He hesitated with his hand hovering over the secret pressure plate that would pop the wall open . . . he wanted to be a good boy and listen to Greta but at the same time, he couldn't stop his tantrum just yet, he was almost at the point of bad behavior where he would ultimately get his way just so he would stop being naughty. Brahms grit his teeth and he heard Greta stepping closer,

“Brahms Heelshire, don't you _dare_ open that panel, put your hand down.” Her voice was so sharp that he could almost feel it stabbing his ears.

Brahms swallowed and slowly closed his hand then punched the button, hurried inside and closed it behind him, hearing Greta groan in exasperation as he disappeared.

* * *

Brahms heard the car leave a moment or two after he'd scurried upstairs and come out in Greta's room, he breathed out slowly and looked around, okay so he had to do something really bad now. Sure, he'd disobeyed Greta right in front of her face but he needed to escalate it just enough so she'd see that it would be more trouble than it was worth to make Brahms move.

He shed the pants he'd worn to bed and looked around the room . . . there was nothing for him to wear in here . . . oh well, he figured he could do what he was going to do then hurry back to his room and get dressed before Greta got back. Brahms walked over to her dresser and started pulling drawers out and upending them, he picked out what articles of clothing he liked the best and put them in a pile in the middle of the unmade bed then went into the bathroom and started throwing her toiletries into the toilet and dropping her toothbrush down the sink drain. Brahms snickered to himself as he scooped up the clothes he'd chosen and started to carry them into his passageway back to his room.

Brahms dumped the clothes into a box then shoved it under a table and went about looking for his own clothes, this time making sure he was properly dressed and combed his hair back. He was about to go back upstairs and maybe find a few other things to do to get his point across when his eyes fell on the letter Daddy had written before leaving forever. Brahms picked it up slowly and moved to sit on the small day-bed with his Greta-doll, rereading the words again and again and feeling that empty spot in his chest grow a bit more.

He curled on his side and snuggled into the doll, his face pressed into the red dress that smelled like that perfume Greta used, dropping the letter on the floor. Suddenly going upstairs and setting fire to something or breaking all the mirrors and picture frames didn't feel like it would be much fun . . . he was so sad inside . . .

* * *

Greta didn't come home for an hour or two, it was hard to tell, Brahms heard the car pull up and the front door open and slam shut, he heard his name being called a few times then footsteps up the stairs then his name was _yelled_ then the door in Greta's closet slammed open and he could hear her coming toward his room,

“Brahms! Where are my clothes?” Greta demanded once she'd located him still curled up on the bed.

Brahms wordlessly pointed at the box, he heard Greta pull it out and pick it up,

“Alright, get up, we're going after we pack some things.”

Brahms didn't move, he was still angry about moving and a little sad about the letter, he tucked his head against the doll's shoulder and shook his head. He felt Greta standing right behind him,

“Now, Brahms.”

Brahms clenched his jaw, glaring over his shoulder at her, “Make me.”

Greta looked less than impressed, but all the same, Brahms had no warning for what happened next and even he had to admit it was effective. Greta put one hand on Brahms hip then wound the other back and brought the flat of her palm down on his backside with a loud cracking sound.

Brahms yelped and scrambled back, eyes wide as he held onto his bottom, Mummy and Daddy had never gotten close enough to him to strike him . . .

“Are you going to listen to me or do you need another spanking?” Greta asked, shaking her hand out a bit.

Brahms just sat blinking at her and his eyes narrowed slightly, he tilted his head back a bit and worked his jaw, “No.”

“No you're not going to listen?”

“ . . . yes.” Brahms said, testing just how far she would be willing to let him go.

Greta's brow furrowed, “You're being a very bad boy, Brahms, you know that means you need to be punished, don't you?”

Brahms shifted, adjusting the erection he only just became aware of, “I've not been naughty, Greta!”

“Yes, you have!” Greta reached over and grabbed his wrist, just as surprised as Brahms when he let her pull him to his feet.

Before he could react, she swatted him again, then pulled him to a chair and pushed him over her lap, Brahms looked indignantly over his shoulder before howling as Greta's hand smacked him again across his upturned rump. Brahms tried to wiggle out of it then groaned as Greta undid his belt and pulled Brahms's pants down around his knees,

“Oh, we remembered underwear this time, huh?”

Brahms licked his lips and groaned again, twitching his hips to try and get Greta to figure out what he wanted. Then he sighed in relief when her hand dropped between his thighs, “Greta . . . I'll be good, I promise . . . “

“You say that a lot then you won't listen to me when I tell you to do something, that's bad, Brahms. Very bad.” Greta reached over for her purse with her free hand while the other was lightly holding Brahms's balls.

Brahms huffed, knowing that if he just kept promising to be good, Greta would touch him and make him come then he could go back to his plans of keeping them here.

“I will, Greta, I will be a good boy!”

“I don't believe you, Brahms.” Greta pulled something out of her purse and then leaned over him.

Brahms was about to weedle his way into getting what he wanted when he felt something slipped over his prick, he furrowed his brow as his balls were also put through a ring or something, he wiggled to try and see what Greta was up to then there was a metallic clicking sound and he yelped. He shot off her lap and stood up, looking in bewilderment down at his rapidly softening cock in its plastic prison, Brahms blinked then looked at Greta,

“What . . . ?”

“Chastity cage I picked up at a little shop in town,” Greta explained, “You're being punished, Brahms, no fun-sexy-time until you learn to listen and not throw childish tantrums.”

Brahms looked back, open-mouthed, at his cock, “That's not fair!”

“Yeah well, deal with it. Put your pants back on.” Greta turned to pick up her purse and the box of her clothes.

Brahms was about to shout something at her then he thought better of it, bent over and pulled his slacks back up, “Yes, Greta.”

* * *

The rest of the day was spent packing Greta's things and the few things that Brahms wanted, it was all he could do to keep calm when Greta refused to bring the mask with and he thought more than once of making a run for the house as they loaded the car. He did stop and stare up at the house for a very long time, tears welling up in his eyes, he turned to Greta who bit her lip before coming around the front of the car and hugging him tightly,

“I know you're scared and this whole thing doesn't feel good, but it'll be alright, Brahms, I'll take care of you.”

Brahms buried his face in Greta's soft hair, tears rolling down his face, “You promise?”

“Yes, Brahms, I promise,” Greta whispered into his chest, her hands stroking over his back and shoulders, “I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, you'll be safe.”

Brahms looked up at the house, his face hardening, “I hate this house . . . I hate it so much . . . why does it hurt to leave?”

Greta sighed, stepping back and holding Brahms's face in her hands, “I don't know.”

She kissed his forehead then moved back to the driver's side and got into the car, Brahms sighed and got in as well,

“ . . . Greta?”

“Hm?” Greta started the car and turned down the driveway.

“Can I have this thing off my cock now?”

“If you keep behaving, we'll see.”

 


End file.
